Who Would Have Thought

Chapter 11

He couldn't believe how close she lived to the hospital. He wasn't actually that sure why she had even bothered to give him direction. She could have told him the address and he would have found it. She might as well live in the hospital. It was insane. Or maybe it just felt insane because he was going to be there in a minute and he wasn't sure he was ready to face this.

He had spent the last two days thinking about nothing but this. They were going to talk. Really talk this time and he wasn't sure he was ready for this. He wasn't sure he was ready to relive the last few months of their relationship, ready to relive the moments when they were falling apart so fast and so bad, he hadn't been able to stop it. He had moved past that. At least, he had hoped he had.

But now they were going to bring it all back up. They were going to have to relive the months before everything had officially fallen apart and the months after. He had stopped thinking about that time ages ago. Even when he had allowed his mind wander to Meredith, he never allowed himself to think of the mess it had become, just that if she was okay or not. But now he had to talk about it.

He sighed as he pulled into her apartment complex, literally a couple blocks from the hospital. He could do this. He could relive those months, he could talk to her about it. And even if he couldn't, he had to. If he wanted to work with her, he had to move past all the hurt and anger and actually talk about it. He just wished his heart wasn't pounding in his ears.

It had been years ago. And even though this conversation was going to be hard it would be okay. They would talk and they would air things out and it couldn't hurt as much as it had years ago. Nothing could hurt that much. And they were good at talking, he knew they were good at talking. There was no reason to be freaking out about this. It was just talking.

He took a deep breath and got out of his car, looking again at the piece of paper in his hand. Apartment 1C. He was here, he was here and he was pretty sure he could smell smoke coming from the apartment. He raised his hand to knock at the door, biting back a laugh when it flung open to reveal Meredith in jeans and a t-shirt, coughing slightly. "Hey," she sputtered.

"Hey," he laughed softly. "Did I interrupt something?"

"I was...cooking," she coughed. "Or trying to."

"You were cooking?" he laughed harder.

"Stop laughing," she frowned. "It's not...I'm trying to learn."

"You are?

"Yeah," she sighed. "Apparently I have to learn now."

"Why do you have to learn?" he asked, letting himself in.

"Brad could cook," Meredith sighed, closing the door behind him. "And before that, Izzie could cook. And apparently, if I'm going to live on my own, I have to know how to cook or I'll starve to death."

"But it seems you might burn yourself to death," he laughed. "Or suffocate."

"It's not that bad," she frowned. "The smoke is mostly gone now."

"Dare I ask what you were trying to make?"

"Um...steaks."

"Steaks? Ambitious for a first try."

"What makes you think this was my first try?"

"Lucky guess," he shrugged.

"Well, it isn't," she said firmly. "Last week I boiled water."

"Did you boil it dry?"

"No," Meredith pouted. "Well...not the third time."

"I can't understand why you find it so impossible," Derek shook his head.

"It's not impossible," Meredith sighed, turning back towards the kitchen, weaving her way through the boxes scattered about. "I can make eggs now."

"That's an improvement," he nodded. "Mer?"

"Yeah?" she asked as she opened the fridge, pulling out a bottle of wine.

"Are you running a storage company out of your apartment?"

"I...no," she frowned, looking around at all the boxes. "I told you...I haven't unpacked yet."

"I know but I thought...have you unpacked anything?"

"Um...clothes."

"Of course," he laughed.

"And pots and pans and...stuff," Meredith frowned.

"And left everything else in boxes."

"I've been very busy."

"And lazy."

"Busy," she defended. "Very, very busy being a surgeon and...being a surgeon."

"Meredith, this is me you're talking to."

"And?"

"Four days ago you had the day off. What did you do?"

"Things."

"Not unpacking things," he laughed, kneeling down in front of a box and opening it.

"Well...no," she sighed, handing him a glass of wine. "What are you doing?"

"Snooping."

"Oh, I forgot," she rolled her eyes before moving to her couch, sitting down and pulling her feet up under her.

"You have to let me snoop," he grinned, taking some bowls out the box.

"I'm not stopping you," she sighed, taking a sip of wine. "How um...how was the date?"

"Oh...crap."

"Crap?"

"She had a really nice chest."

"Well, that's nice," Meredith giggled.

"And that's basically all she had going for her."

"You're being mean."

"I'm being honest," he sighed. "Remember that girl Sophie was briefly friends with? Mandy, I think her name was."

"The one whose every other word was like?"

"That's the one," he nodded.

"Oh," Meredith winced slightly. "Please tell me that wasn't your date."

"It was," he grimaced.

"Sorry, Der," she sighed, settling back against the cushions of the couch.

"It's not your fault," he shook his head. "It's Mark's fault."

"I forgot you always blame Mark."

"Meredith, he set me up with her."

"You still said yes."

"Remind me to never say yes again."

"I will," she giggled and then fell into silence, watching him go through her boxes.

"You have a lot of stuff," he sighed.

"I do," she nodded carefully.

"I don't know where you're going to put it all."

"Me neither," she murmured. "It's why...I don't know where to put it all."

"Of course you don't," he nodded. "I've got it."

"You've got it?" she raised an eyebrow.

"It will never get done other wise," he shrugged.

"You're going to unpack my stuff?"

"Yes."

"I didn't realize that was part of snooping."

"It's not," he sighed. "It's part of the fact I knew you, or at least I did. And if someone else doesn't do it, it will never get done. And it makes...it makes this easier."

"Okay," she whispered.

"So...talking."

"Talking," she nodded, reaching for the bottle of wine to pour herself another glass. "Found anything interesting?"

"Not yet," he laughed as he pulled out some plates. "I'm sure I will."

"Maybe," she shrugged.

"Pictures," he suddenly smiled. "Gold."

"They're pictures, Der," she rolled her eyes.

"They're more interesting than plates."

"Fine, look at the pictures," Meredith shrugged.

"I plan too," he nodded. "Who's this with Izzie?"

"Hmmm?" she leaned forward. "Oh, that's her husband. Denny Duquette."

"He looks nice," he nodded.

"He's great," Meredith grinned. "He really loves her which is...I mean, she always wanted that."

"That's great," Derek nodded. "She's never going to come visit, is she?"

"She might visit me," Meredith shrugged. "You...you should probably hide or something."

"Yes, it might be a good idea."

"She's threatening scary things," Meredith giggled as she sipped at her wine.

"Does she know we're talking tonight?"

"Definitely not."

"Good," he nodded. "I already got it from Mark."

"I figured you would," she sighed. "He completely and totally hates me which...I mean, I get it. I guess."

"No," Derek shook his head. "He shouldn't hate you."

"Derek...Izzie hates you."

"Do you?"

"Do I hate you?" Meredith frowned as he flipped through some loose photos.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"I don't hate you, Der," she murmured. "I can't...I mean, at first I did. I really did but...I don't hate you."

"I don't hate you either," he whispered.

"That's...that's good."

"It is," he nodded. "It's probably a good place to start talking."

"Talking," she sighed. "We...you're here to talk. Not unpack my stuff. Which is...I mean, you're doing that anyway and that's great but we're supposed to be talking."

"We are," he smiled slightly. "I don't even know how to start this talk."

"Me neither."

"So much happened."

"And we talked about you leaving so..." Meredith bit her lips as she stared into the wine glass.

"So now we talk about why I left."

"Because I was a mess and you couldn't handle it," Meredith shrugged. "Because you didn't want to handle it."

"Because I couldn't handle it," he agreed. "It was nothing to do with what I wanted."

"You didn't want to handle it," she repeated. "You wanted to work. You wanted everything to be easy."

"What I wanted was for you to eat something. Say something. Do something."

"I did."

"No, Mer, you didn't."

"I tried, Derek. I did my best."

"Mer...you didn't," he sighed. "Wh...why did you stop turning to me? Talking and letting me hold you?"

"I told you. I couldn't. I couldn't fall apart. And if I turned to you...I was doing it by myself."

"But you didn't have to."

"Yes I did, Derek."

"Mer, we were in love, we were together. It was just as much mine."

"It wasn't your mom dying. It wasn't your life that was a mess. You had it all figured out, Der. You knew who you were and what you were going to do and...I was the bartender who was terrified to think about it."

"And I wanted to help," he groaned. "I wanted to help you figure it out. And Ellis...definitely not my mom but, you were my family. That made her my family."

"Der, Ellis Grey wasn't even my family," Meredith rolled her eyes. "She was...she was the great Ellis Grey."

"She was still your mom. If she hadn't gotten sick, she would have been my mother-in-law."

"Which is...scary," Meredith giggled quietly.

"It is," he laughed softly. "I was kind of terrified about that the minute you told me who your mom was."

"Mark choked on his beer."

"I wanted to run away."

"You should have," Meredith whispered. "It would have been...easier or whatever."

"No," he shook his head firmly. "I regret how we ended but you...no, I don't regret you."

"Oh," she breathed. "I don't...me neither."

"Those first few months together..."

"Were completely amazing," she smiled softly. "Like...and we were happy. Really stupidly happy. And I wasn't used to that."

"Neither was I," he shook his head. "I still...I've never met someone I fell for so hard and so fast since."

"Me neither. Brad wasn't...we were...and then you and I were just...what we were."

"It was something special," he nodded as put some plates away.

"And then you left."

"I hated leaving you."

"I hated you for leaving."

"You should have."

"I know..." Meredith sighed. "Later...when I thought about it, really thought about it and I was working through stuff and...you had every right to leave, Derek. I was...you should have left. Leaving was good. It was good you left. You didn't have a mess anymore and I...it's good you left."

"Meredith, leaving you wasn't about dumping off a mess."

"It wasn't?"

"No," he shook his head. "I was...dying, Mer. I don't know how else to put it. I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't eating, I wasn't...I was just as bad as you were."

"Oh," she breathed. "I...I didn't know."

"I know you didn't," he nodded. "I didn't tell you."

"I should have noticed. A good girlfriend would have noticed."

"Mer, you had enough going on," he shrugged.

"Still...I should have, I mean, it was me, Derek. And you were you and I didn't notice that you were...shit girlfriend."

"Mer, you were never a shit girlfriend," he shook his head. "Things just got complicated."

"Complicated meaning shit girlfriend. You can admit it."

"Mer, you were barely human. I didn't really think about what kind of girlfriend you were."

"Crappy human."

"Hurting human."

"Crappy human and crappy girlfriend."

"Meredith, don't," he shook his head. "What you were going through...don't beat yourself up about what happened."

"Do you beat yourself up?" she asked softly.

"Constantly."

"You don't get to if I don't."

"We probably both need to stop it."

"Probably," she sighed. "How's the snooping?"

"Actually...you're kind of boring."

"What?"

"There's nothing here, just boring house stuff and pictures of George and Izzie."

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't now. Meredith like stuff."

"What exactly is Meredith like stuff?" she giggled.

"I don't know," he sighed, opening another box. "Something that screams you. Who you are now. Not books."

"Maybe that's who I am now."

"You?" he smirked. "I could believe many things, Mer. But there's no way you're boring."

"Maybe I am," she shrugged. "What are you looking for? A bottle of tequila?"

"No. I don't know what. I'll know when I see it."

"Okay," she rolled her eyes.

"You...you walked all over my place saying how much it was me," he sighed. "And this...I don't see you."

"I'm not the same person, Derek."

"Neither am I but you still saw me."

"You're...you're more you or whatever. I was...I was a mess in a bar."

"You were my mess," he smiled slightly. "And now...I feel like I never knew you."

"You knew the mess," Meredith whispered. "After you left...I mean, I was still a mess. I did things and guys and...but then after my mom died and she was gone and you were gone...I had to do something. I had to be something and be someone and I just...I didn't want to be the mess that pushed you away. I didn't want...so I changed things. I really changed things. Big things."

"I was hoping you would find the strength to do that," he whispered.

"I did," Meredith nodded. "I found the strength and...I don't know what you're looking for, Derek."

"You," he sighed. "I guess...you saw who I became. I want to see who you became after me."

"I'm...a surgeon," she shrugged, moving to sit on the floor next to him. "I don't drink anymore. Well, I do. Because anyone who says they don't are big fat liars but I...not like I did. And I um...I've been in relationships, Derek. Brad wasn't my first since you...I'm just...I'm me. And I'm a surgeon." She pushed a box towards him.

"You're not just a surgeon," he shrugged. "That would be your mom and you would never become her."

"Yeah," she sighed, opening the box and then leaning against the couch, waiting for him to go through it.

"What is it?" he asked, not looking in the box.

"Just...stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Me stuff," she smiled lightly.

"You stuff?" he asked, starting to rifle through the box.

"I went to Dartmouth for med school," she murmured.

"Dartmouth," he smiled. "Good job."

"I interned at Boston Gen...just like you and Addie and Mark."

"Who was your resident?"

"Rawlins."

"He was in my intern year," Derek nodded.

"He was an ass," Meredith rolled her eyes.

"He was in his intern year too."

"I don't doubt it," she giggled, still leaning against the back of the couch.

"I drank a lot after we broke up," he murmured, still going through the box.

"Addie told me."

"About the tequila?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "I...you hate tequila."

"I didn't even want to be drinking it," he nodded. "I just...I was in so much pain and I just wanted it to stop. I drank a shot, and it helped. So I just kept going."

"Addie said...she said it was bad."

"I don't remember much of it. I woke up the next day feeling like hell and Mark was passed out against my wall."

"Addie said they almost took you to the hospital," Meredith murmured.

"She told me that," he whispered, blinking quickly. "I just...wanted to stop hurting."

"You didn't...I mean...I know I...not that I wanted to but did you..."

"Suicide? No. Mark thought it was but it was just...one drink led to another. I didn't want to die."

"Okay," she breathed. "That's...that's good."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Want to die?"

"No," she shook her head quickly. "I never wanted to. I was completely broken and you...but no."

"Good. I...I've spent the last twelve years worrying that maybe you had. I was terrified. I think that's...why I've been so mad."

"Because you thought I was going to kill myself?"

"Because I couldn't save you."

"Derek..." she took a deep breath. "That was my point. You wanted to save me. And you couldn't...you can't want to save people."

"I know that now."

"Which is why you're still mad?"

"I don't know why I'm mad," he sighed. "I just know...for me, we didn't end when you walked out of that apartment."

"We didn't?" she murmured, staring into the box his hands were still buried in.

"No. I spent...years worrying about you."

"You didn't have to."

"I know I didn't."

"I was okay, Derek," she nodded. "I'm okay."

"I know that now," he sighed. "I'm glad you are."

"I'm glad you're okay too."

"And now we're working together."

"Now we're working together," she nodded.

"I don't want to scream at you."

"I don't want to scream at you either," Meredith smiled softly.

"I'm sorry, Mer. I'm so sorry for everything," he murmured.

"I'm sorry too," she breathed. "I...I shouldn't have turned away, Derek. I shouldn't...I loved you."
"I loved you too," he nodded. "I should have tried harder to be there. I should have shaken you when I wanted to."

"I might have slapped you."

"You would have touched me?" he smirked slightly.

"Der..." she rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," he smiled. "You slapping me at least would have been something."

"You're a very strange man, Derek Shepherd," she giggled. "How goes the snooping?"

"Well I just found this picture I'd like an explanation to," he laughed softly. "Is this Meredith Grey, the med school years?"

"What?" Meredith giggled.

"Mer...you have a tiara on."

"Oh," Meredith blushed.

"Explain."

"Izzie's bridal shower."

"Very cute," he laughed.

"Thank you," she giggled. "That tiara might still be in the box."

"A tiara in the box?" he asked, smiling widely and looking for it. "Oh here it is. Is this Meredith?"

"I don't know," she giggled again, taking it from him and putting it on. "What do you think?"

"Oh that is definitely you."

"Oh really?"

"Completely."

"I had no idea I was a tiara."

"I think you are. Meredith the tiara."

"You're so full of it."

"Mer?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I find out who you are?"

"You mean beyond the tiara?"

"Beyond the tiara. And the scrubs," he smiled and then his eyes widened slightly. "I mean that in a clean way."

"Dirty, Derek Shepherd," she shook her head, still smiling. "Dirty dirty man."

"Answer the question."

"Bossy."

"Mer...I mean it," he sighed. "Can I get to know you?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "You can get to know me."

"Good," he smiled.

"Can I...I mean, I'm pretty sure I already know you with the fishing and the trailer and...but can I?"

"Definitely," he nodded.

"Good," she smiled slightly, the tiara falling slightl to the side in her hair.

"Your tiara is crooked," he murmured, reaching forward to push it back up on her head.

"Not a sentence I hear every day," she breathed, her hand meeting his for a moment.

"It kind of fits you," he whispered.

"Does it?"

"It does," he nodded slightly. "A princess with a crooked tiara."

"Cheesy, Der," she wrinkled her nose.

"I think it might be you."

"So you found me?"

"I may have."